


Across the Room

by Adenil



Series: Stark Spangled Banner [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Science Boyfriends, Stark Spangled Banner - Freeform, Steve Rogers dirty talk, Steve's a good guy, Threesome - M/M/M, Tony Stark more like Tony Snark, Tony shh, Voyeurism, accidentally becoming, awkward dom!Bruce, but he can ask Steve to have sex for him, but he's no virgin, cutie dom!Bruce, since Bruce can't have sex, sort of a weird threesome though, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> He hadn’t expected this outcome when he had let slip his little problem that fateful Wednesday. He’d really just wanted a shoulder to complain into. He hadn’t expected much of anything other than perhaps a wince and an empty platitude. What else could Steve offer to the knowledge that, yes Bruce and Tony definitely wanted to screw and, yes they were working out the sciency details but, no they couldn’t yet because things would still get very green very fast?</i><br/><i></i><br/><i>Apparently, Steve could do a lot with that knowledge. </i><br/>_<br/>Bruce really just wants to sleep with his boyfriend/partner/science bestie, but unfortunately they have a Big Green Problem. It's cool, though. Steve's got it covered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across the Room

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of weirdly inspired by my own Banner/Stark work [_Respond_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1859247). What if Bruce just couldn't have sex? Like all the time, but he wanted to? The solution is obvious, of course. He'll just have to get someone who can do it for him.

Bruce wondered if maybe they should have talked about this more.

Of course, it was really too late _now_ , as he watched Steve standing practically at attention—chin tipped up, arms loose at his sides, eyes nervous but determined—beside Tony who was rocking back and forth on his heels, alternating between shoving his hands in his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. 

Bruce watched him move for a moment. Hands in pockets. Arms over chest. Hands back in pockets, making little fists.

“All right,” Tony exploded—because of course he would have to speak first. “I knew there would be watching, but this is ridiculous. Can we just get this over with?”

Steve shot him a little glare, annoyed—and not in a fond way. “You sure know how to make a fella feel appreciated.”

Tony whipped his head around to give Steve an incredulous look. His arms were back across his chest now, his fingers digging into his biceps as he ground his teeth together. “Clearly you are confused about this situation,” he quipped. “Because this so is definitely not about you, _fella_.” He stressed the word with a certain amount of mockery and gestured wildly at where Bruce was sitting across the room, observing them. “See him? Impeccable brain, legs for miles—once he rips through his pants, you know, gotta love weak denim—and apparent difficulty doing the dirty? That’s why we’re here, duh.”

Steve clenched his fists and scowled. “I do know why we’re here, Tony. This was my idea.”

Which, really, just continued to surprise Bruce.

He hadn’t expected this outcome when he had let slip his little problem that fateful Wednesday. He’d really just wanted a shoulder to complain into. He hadn’t expected much of anything other than perhaps a wince and an empty platitude. What else could Steve offer to the knowledge that, yes Bruce and Tony definitely wanted to screw and, yes they were working out the sciency details but, no they couldn’t yet because things would still get very green very fast?

Apparently, Steve could do a lot with that knowledge.

He snapped back a little and realized that Steve and Tony were _still_ arguing. A bit more heated now, with Tony standing with his fists in his pockets and his shoulders loose like he didn’t care, and Steve back to ram-rod straight staring ahead as he answered Tony’s quips in easy monotone.

"Are you two going to fight the entire time?” Bruce asked as softly as he could, trying not to let his amusement show.

Steve had the decency to look chagrined, but Tony merely shrugged and said, “Yeah, probably.”

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, trying to remember why he was so attracted to this man. He traced the shape of his own eyebrow to smooth any errant hairs and sighed. He knew why. Tony was annoying and impulsive and quick to stab with his words, but he was also sweet and inquisitive and never coddled Bruce with kid gloves. The smirk a mile long helped, too.

“I didn’t know this was going to be hate sex,” Bruce muttered dryly. He liked the way Steve blushed at his words and the sudden arch to Tony’s eyebrow as he nodded appreciatively.

“Bruce,” Steve said and despite his blush, he acted like he was the one leading Bruce through a minefield. “I understand that this situation isn’t ideal for you, so if you want us to—”

“Tony, please place your hand on Steve’s mouth.”

Tony didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he flew at Steve, slapping his hand over the man’s mouth with a certain perverse relish, effectively muffling Steve’s continued worrying words. “Oh, Brucie,” he sing-songed, eyes locked on Steve’s disgruntled look. “You know just what does it for me.”

“Steve, please return the favor.”

He definitely wasn’t imagining the look of spiteful victory that flashed in Steve’s eyes as he grabbed Tony’s jaw in his hand. He held Tony firmly, but not roughly as Tony grumbled and kept trying to talk (Bruce could vaguely make out a few words about _genetically engineered assholes_ ). Bruce watched the two men glare at each other for a moment, one dark and pointy and annoying and the other light and hard and too-gentle.

As one, they both seemed to realize their position and they swung their gazes over to Bruce, still curled up on the chair. They looked at him quizzically. Steve was silent, watchful, appraising. Tony’s jaw was still working to talk (he said something that sounded like _can we get on with it?_ ). Bruce admitted silently to himself that, although it was better when they weren’t sniping at each other, it also effectively made it difficult for them to move on.

“All right,” he said, mostly to fill space and gather his thoughts. He wasn’t exactly turned on yet, and he could tell no one else was either. “Let’s start slow.” Steve seemed to relax at his words, but Tony’s hips took on a jaunty angle in defiance. “Steve, touch his neck.”

Steve reached out without hesitance, so good at following orders. Tony was still grumbling under his breath, but he did acquiesce to Steve lightly running just the pads of his fingers over the swoop of his neck. Bruce could see his nails catching on the few short hairs there, softly pulling and leaving tender goosebumps in his wake.

Tony shivered a little, and then looked annoyed with himself. But, he allowed himself to stand there with Steve’s hand clamped over his mouth and his hand over Steve’s as Steve gently stroked the side of his neck exactly the way he thought Bruce would do it.

Bruce had the fleeting thought that this probably _was_ how he would do it. Softly, just like that. Wrenching tiny shivers that Tony fought to hide. He could be rough if he wanted to be, but this was their first time. He would be gentle.

He let them continue until Tony’s eyes swiveled to lock onto his, silently demanding more. Bruce had to bite at his lip and run a hand over the band of his watch-slash-heart-rate-monitor. He glanced away, at Steve, who was intent on his task and staring at where his fingers touched Tony’s neck.

He wondered what Steve was getting out of this.

“I—kiss him.”

He wasn’t sure, exactly, which man he was directing the order at. But he was glad for confusing pronouns when both dropped their hands at the same instant. Tony reached up and grabbed a fistful of Steve’s blonde hair and yanked him in, cramming their mouths together with desperation, never once looking away from Bruce.

Steve let out a muffled sound of protest and Tony took advantage, shoving his tongue into Steve’s mouth and licking at him. Bruce had to convince himself not to moan as the message became clear—this was exactly what Tony would do to him, if only he could.

“Steve,” Bruce said, aiming his voice for mild and feeling pleasantly surprised when he hit the note exactly. “Make him be gentle. Don’t let him do that to you.”

He watched Steve obey, slipping his head into a more subtle angle, bringing his hands up to cup gently at the side of Tony’s face, holding him still enough to slow their frantic motions.

It was enough for Tony to let out a garbled noise of complaint and wrench his gaze away. It was a bit better then, for Bruce, because he didn’t have Tony’s hot stare boring into him, confusing him and making him want to forget about heart rates and not getting too excited. He watched Tony’s angry glare fixate on Steve’s closed eyes as he tried to regain control of the situation.

Tony’s hands fisted in Steve’s hair, tugging and pulling and demanding more as Steve kissed him languidly, almost painfully slowly. Bruce felt a strange sensation coiling in his gut at the sight of Tony’s hands entangled in blonde locks. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but he was hit with the superb notion that he wanted to feel that _too_.

But he couldn’t. And so he sank a little lower in his chair and rested his forehead on his hand.

“That’s good,” he said, mostly to Steve who hummed a bit in acknowledgement. Tony was back to glaring daggers every-which-way. “Now, Tony’s usually the one to push things too far, so you’ll just have to—ah.” He watched as Tony suddenly shoved one hand up Steve’s shirt, groping wildly. “Yeah, you’ll have to put up with that.”

Steve didn’t seem too put out by it. He leaned into the kisses a bit more, eyes still closed but not tightly. More like they had fallen shut so he could feel everything more clearly. Bruce wanted to close his eyes for a moment, to imagine he felt what Steve felt, but he couldn’t look away.

Tony groped around, clearly annoyed by how tight Steve’s shirt was. Bruce could practically hear the snark on the tip of his tongue about this being the twenty-first century and not needing to wear his asthmatic-self’s hand-me-downs. Thankfully, he was interrupted by Steve slipping his tongue into his mouth. Bruce saw his tongue disappear, and he couldn’t quite see what was happening but whatever it was sent another shiver up Tony’s spine and made his eyes flutter for just a moment.

Bruce made a mental note to interrogate Steve later about what exactly he’d done. And maybe ask for a hands-on demonstration.

Finally, Tony hiked Steve’s shirt up high enough to reach his chest, and he twisted his fingers over Steve’s nipple. Steve let out a choking sound and his eyes screwed shut tighter.

“Is that okay?” Bruce asked, because he knew Tony wouldn’t.

Steve pulled back just far enough—wet lips sticking together and skin pulling taut—to breathe, “Yeah,” over Tony’s lips. Then he shoved back and renewed his exceedingly gentle explorations.

Bruce dropped his gaze to Tony’s hands on Steve’s chest. He had a brief moment of hurt when he realized that Steve was almost completely smooth there. Steve did not possess the wild tangle of chest hair that Bruce did, and that was just sad. Bruce had had many a partner use it as handhold, or tug at him until pain caressed pleasure and swirled into a heady mix. Steve wouldn’t get to experience that.

“Steve, drop your hands lower.” Steve obeyed easily, sliding broad hands from Tony’s face down his neck to rest on his shoulders. “Maybe, uh, hug?”

It felt a little awkward. Tony cast a disgruntled look in his direction as Steve folded him into a hug, trapping Tony’s arm between their chests. Tony’s look clearly said _really? You’re making me hug my most hated enemy_? It was all hyperbole, and so Bruce smiled benevolently back and appreciated how well Tony could roll his eyes in the middle of sucking face.

With Steve’s hands down, though, Tony could regain some of his earlier desperation. His head angled down, forcefully, and his tongue fucked Steve’s mouth with renewed vigor. His hand was still fisted in Steve’s hair, and now he utilized his hold to force Steve’s neck back.

Steve’s knees had gone weak, lowering him enough that Tony seemed to tower over him. Steve was clutching at him like he had a case of the vapors, eyelashes flush against his cheeks.

“Tony,” Bruce said, internally proud of how even-keeled his voice sounded despite the situation. “Do you want to mark him?”

Tony _growled_ into Steve’s mouth and Steve answered with a whimper, which was really all the evidence Bruce needed to see about how good an idea that was.

“Do it.”

Tony yanked Steve’s head back fully, exposing the long line of his neck to the world and plastering his lips on Steve’s jugular. Steve’s mouth hung open wetly as Tony suckled at him, taking in a nub of flesh between his teeth and leaving hot, angry red welts all over him. Burst blood vessels beneath the skin.

“Be gentle,” Bruce admonished. Tony obeyed marginally and licked a hot swathe over the worst of the hickies, almost tender. Bruce wondered if this was how Tony would treat him, if they ever got this far. If they would constantly be having conversations about not drawing blood and poisoning Tony. Or maybe this was because it wasn’t actually Bruce under him, but Steve who could raise Tony’s hackles in a second and leave his eyes flashing that strange, disappointed anger.

Bruce shifted a little in his chair. He was definitely interested now, but as long as he was over here and they were over there he wasn’t concerned. He frowned to himself as Steve choked back a pained sound at Tony’s hands on his chest, teeth against his neck.

“Steve, talk to me. Is everything okay?” Bruce sat up a little straighter, ready to call it off if the answer way anything but enthusiastic.

Thankfully, Steve just let out a breathy laugh. His eyes were still shut tight but he managed a nod, his chin brushing over Tony’s hair. “Y-yeah, it’s fine. Can you…” He bit off whatever else he was going to say and settled for squeezing Tony tighter.

“I need you to tell me what you want,” Bruce said softly.

Tony yanked his mouth away from Steve’s neck at his words, although his hand didn’t drop its incessant fiddling over Steve’s chest. “Bruce, this is about what you want, you idiot,” he said, words coming out in a tangled rush just as Steve dropped his head and whispered—

“Can you order me around more?”

Both men stopped and turned to look at each other. Steve’s eyes were suddenly wide, staring at Tony with a sort of abject horror as a slow grin spread across Tony’s face.

Dammit. Tony would never let anyone hear the end of any of this.

He rescued Steve the only way he knew how: by giving everyone what they wanted. “Throw Tony on the bed.”

Tony squawked in protest, but Steve was lightning-fast. He dropped one arm to Tony’s waist and hoisted him up off his feet, spinning towards the bed and actually throwing Tony onto it. Bruce almost winced—he hadn’t meant it literally, really—but then he caught sight of the way Tony bounced, limbs snapping out and knees drawing to his chest as he struggled to catch himself. It was heady, the way Tony’s near-black eyes snapped back and forth between Steve and Bruce, the way Tony slowly licked his lips before regaining his senses enough to snark.

“You didn’t have to _throw_ me, you oaf,” he said acerbically. “It’s a figure of speech! Did they have those in the forties? Maybe you have to read more than a nude magazine to understand—”

“Climb on top of him,” Bruce ordered.

“—I mean, I get it,” Tony continued unabated as Steve stretched himself over Tony’s body, each long limb catching the light beautifully. “A lot of lonely nights in the bunker. Need a little comic-book pick-me-up. Called them bibles, didn’t you?”

“Tijuana bibles,” Steve agreed, clearly nonplussed with Tony’s attempts to get under his skin.

Tony glanced over at Bruce and smirked. Even pinned under Steve he was remarkably frustrating. “Maybe that’s the key to getting Cap all hot and bothered. Scantily-clad, poorly-drawn women with hips like—” He twisted his hips in a rude gesture and Steve’s eyes fluttered shut.

Bruce didn’t point out that Steve seemed pretty hot and bothered right now, actually. He knew that Tony needed this. Needed to convince himself that Steve was still virginal and only in this because he was Mr. Altruism, although clearly that had all flown out the window when Steve had nodded thoughtfully days prior and said, “Well, what about a proxy?”

“Grab his wrists,” Bruce ordered. Steve was the one fast enough to obey, and he wrapped his hands around Tony’s wrists, broad fingers spanning them easily. “And draw them over his head.”

He liked the little sputter of annoyance as Steve wrenched Tony’s hands over his head against the blankets. “Really? You’re the soldier who needs to follow orders, and you’re holding _me_ down? Doesn’t that seem backwards?”

“Are your hips lined up?” Bruce inquired mildly.

Steve nodded jerkily, and Tony scowled. “Lined up for what? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re both still clothed here. I’d really appreciate a little less in that area, but apparently doing what you want means never stepping outside your orders, which is really sexy by the way, did I say that?”

He was back to waggling his eyebrows at Bruce, and Bruce smiled kindly at him. “Steve, please grind down.”

Steve did, immediately, hips shoving down against Tony and wrenching a sudden choked gasp from Tony’s lips. Steve was quivering above him, hands on Tony’s wrists as he brought their hips together in slow, languid rolls.

Bruce could see denim pulling tight over Steve’s pert ass and along his legs. His back was hunched over Tony, legs on either side of Tony’s suddenly-shivering body. Bruce quite liked the way Tony shivered, his hips twisting both to get away and draw closer, his back bowed up off the bed, his chest rising and falling with frantic breaths.

“Good,” Bruce breathed. “That’s—you’re doing very well, Steve.” He ignored Tony’s pointed glare. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“He’s hot,” Steve said immediately. “Warm to the touch, skin so-soft under my hands. He’s hard against me, I-I can feel his whole length when I slide like—” He cut himself off with a demonstration and a low grunt, tipping his head back and pressing his eyes more firmly closed. “Like that. Feel him shaking under me and like I, like I’m shaking, too.”

Fuck. Bruce was beginning to wonder if maybe remaining an unaffected observer to the goings-on would be more difficult than he had imagined. He managed to sit up a little from his unconscious slouch and cleared his throat. “You like that?”

“Yes.” Steve rolled his hips down again, back stiff and straining, and on the down-snap Tony gasped and his eyes went wide. “God, yes. I like to hold him while you te—” He suddenly snapped his mouth shut and shoved his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, burying his grunts against Tony’s skin.

Tony stared up at the ceiling, breaths coming in short pants. “Gonna ask me?”

Bruce tried to smile, but it came out strange and desperate. He suddenly wanted to get up and pace around the room, let off a little steam. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Not sure what Captain Tight-Pants is talking about; he’s way hotter than me,” Tony said as an answer. “Like, Christ, he’s on fire. His hands are like brands on my wrists.” He twisted them to demonstrate, and Bruce could see hot pink flushing down Tony’s arms. Tony suddenly rolled his head to the side, gazing at Bruce with a coiled intensity. “Are you that hot, Bruce?”

“Yeah.” Bruce felt like he might start on fire. “I am.”

Steve muffled his groan into Tony’s neck.

Tony laughed breathlessly. His smile was wet, pink lips parting and flashing teeth. “He’s heavy,” he went on, eyes now locked to Bruce’s. Bruce couldn’t even blink as he watched Steve rut against Tony, pressing him back against the mattress with each harried motion. “But, in a good way? Perfect for holding me down and making me feel like I can’t get away.”

“You can’t,” Bruce managed. His words felt garbled. “Steve, show him he can’t.”

He wasn’t sure, exactly, how he expected Steve to execute that order, but it definitely wasn’t by Steve turning his head to the side and biting down _hard_ against Tony’s neck.

Tony shouted into the air and twisted, hips jutting up, arms struggling as Steve held him down and pierced his teeth into Tony’s flesh. Bruce could see that it was a hard bite, but controlled. Maintained so that even pressure spiked out over Tony’s neck, but didn’t break skin. Really, it was fair revenge for Tony’s earlier biting.

“ _Fuck.”_ Tony tried to twist his wrists away for a moment, each movement more frantic than the last. “I, okay, that’s really—” Steve interrupted him by shoving his hips down again, sliding their clothed erections flush against one another. “Fuck, _BruceSteve yes_.”

It was interesting to hear their names all wrapped up into one, but Bruce didn’t have time to concentrate on it. He could only watch as Tony writhed under Steve’s powerful grip, the insistent bite at his throat, the rocking of their hips together.

“Fuck,” Bruce echoed a moment later, as the sounds of rough denim scraping together became too much. “Steve, hold him down with one hand. You’re strong. You can handle him.”

Steve released Tony’s neck wordlessly, drawing a sharp grunt from Tony’s throat. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was in protest or relief. Steve maneuvered Tony to hold two of his wrists in one broad hand.

“This is interesting,” Tony said. His voice was high and thready, like it was caught in the wind and swept away. “Although, I could probably escape now.”

“You won’t,” Bruce said, a faint note of humor in his voice. It probably should have been a harsh demand, but when it came to Tony there was no such thing.

“No,” Tony agreed whole-heartedly. “I won’t.”

Bruce took a moment to hum to himself. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and tried to remember why he’d ordered Steve to do that. “Oh, ah, drop one hand and touch him.” He could see Steve obey, and was suddenly glad that Steve had had the foresight to use the hand nearest Bruce. He could see every stretch of every muscle in his arm as he dropped it to Tony’s waist and palmed him through his pants.

Steve had to cant his own hips away a bit to give him room, and it was enough that Bruce could suddenly see everything. He could see the hard, matching curves of their erections—Tony’s now encased under Steve’s hand, Steve’s free and pressing against the front of his pants.

“Good,” he murmured. He liked the way Steve gulped at his words, his throat bobbing in appreciation of his praise. “Do you want to make him come, Steve?”

Steve’s face was still buried in Tony’s neck, hiding, but Bruce could see the way his flush darkened with his blush. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I, if that’s how you want it?”

“I do.” He toyed with the idea for a moment before deciding to go with it. “In fact, make him come in his pants. That ought to shut him up.”

Steve snorted a laugh at his words and Tony opened his mouth to say something truly scathing, no doubt. Bruce could practically pinpoint the instant where Tony’s words died and his moan began as Steve jerked his hand tight against Tony’s crotch and began to rub him frantically.

“Oh, dammit, _fuck_.” Tony twisted his hips up into Steve’s powerful hand. “That’s, okay, that’s some fine technique there.”

“Really good,” Bruce agreed. “ _Very_ good. Twist him a little more. Feel him in your hand. Go faster than what he’s ready for. Do you like that, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve gasped.

Bruce was suddenly hit with the extraordinary notion that Steve thought he was asking about the _orders_. He shot his gaze down to Tony, who was also looking bewildered. Tony looked at Bruce as if he might hold the answers to the strange problem that was Steve Rogers. Bruce really didn’t; he was still working through the same puzzle himself.

“Don’t stop,” Bruce commanded, and then he just sort of let it happen. He let his mouth fall open and words to spill out that he didn’t quite hear as he demanded Steve move this way and that way, hold Tony down with more force, rub him raw, kiss his neck, taste his skin.

Steve was shivering just as much as Tony, biting back quiet moans as he hastened to obey each order. It was really just—beautiful probably wasn’t the right word, as Tony gave Steve beard burn and cussed at him, but there it was. Bruce was counting his heartbeats in a chair across the room as Steve gave Tony the fastest, dirtiest hand job of his life, all rough motions and jerky gasping breaths but god dammit, there was beauty there.

In the way Steve’s back arched down and Tony’s arched up. In the beads of sweat on Tony’s brow, the bright flash of pink along the back of Steve’s neck. The way Tony parted his lips and Steve groaned into his shoulder. The high line of bite marks up both of their necks—not placed by Bruce, but he would have, if he could.

It was almost a surprise when Tony twisted under Steve and let out a broken, shuddering cry of anguish-come-unbridled-joy. Bruce could see every twitch of his muscle, every quiver of his skin as he came hard into Steve’s hand, the wet spot forming on the front of his pants. Tony’s mouth was frozen open, and Bruce could barely breathe as he ordered, “Kiss him.”

Steve did, smashing their lips together almost painfully. Tony was practically comatose underneath him as he shuddered, putting barely a paltry effort into kissing back. His arms had gone slack, fingers flicking in the air through the aftershocks as Steve explored Tony’s mouth with lazy sweeps of his tongue.

Bruce didn’t have to look down at his heart rate monitor—couldn’t have looked, even if he wanted to. He knew he was hovering dangerously high. One-eighty at least, as he watched them kiss the way lovers kissed.

Eventually, he realized that Steve wasn’t stopping, and it wasn’t just because Tony was a great kisser (which…he was). It was because Bruce hadn’t told him he could yet.

His mind scrambled for what came next. “Steve, are you, is everything…” He didn’t even know how to ask.

Steve pulled away suddenly and dropped his grip, rolled completely off Tony. He looked sheepish, and when his eyes fluttered open he fixed Bruce with one of the most depressingly hopeful looks that Bruce had ever seen. “Sorry,” Steve said immediately. “I was just—I should, you probably want me to go, so.”

It sort of made sense, then, what Steve was thinking. How he felt like he wasn’t exactly invited to a party that had been his idea. Bruce wanted to disabuse him of the notion, but thankfully Tony spoke first.

“What the hell, no,” Tony said—grumbled, really, voice low and rough. “I’m not some hooker here for a wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”

If it had been Bruce saying it, Steve would surely have jumped to apologize, saying he’d _never_ meant to imply such a thing. But since it was Tony, Steve glared daggers at him. “No, you’re an ass,” he growled.

“I mean, I know that’s most of your experience what with the war effort and all. Support our troops, ration shortages, yadda yadda, but really it’s just uncouth to put your boots on right after.”

“Wow,” Bruce interrupted, surprising everyone in the room, mostly himself. “I want to fuck both of you.”

Tony looked extremely interested in the idea. Steve had the good graces to appear almost ashamed, glancing to one side as he said, “Would that be a good idea?”

“No, it would be a terrible idea. Especially now.” Bruce ignored Tony’s sad eyes. “Which is why you’re just going to have to do it for me.”

Tony’s interest level peaked and crashed down as he knitted his eyebrows together, clearly mulling over the idea. Steve looked positively scandalized.

“Bruce,” Steve said, tone searching. “Do you really want me to have, to have sex with your…” Steve trailed off, unspoken attempts at finding the right word (boyfriend, lover, science bro, annoyance, partner) hanging in the air.

Bruce nodded anyway. “It wasn’t a request, Steve.”

That seemed to do it. Steve closed his eyes again and flushed a deep red. It dusted over the tips of his ears nicely, Bruce thought.

“I’m down for that,” Tony said, perfectly able to both break and ramp up the tension. He began to undo the fly of his pants.

“Stop him.”

Steve obeyed, flinging out his hands to hold Tony still. They both looked at each other for a moment, sharing some weird unspoken conversation that Bruce could only guess at, before turning to stare at Bruce questioningly. It was kind of creepy how they moved in tandem sometimes.

Bruce took a deep breath. “Steve, stand up and strip. Then do the same for Tony.”

Steve slipped from the bed in one long, fluid motion, legs snapping out with what was probably unconscious precision. Now that his eyes were open, Bruce could see how his pupils had completely taken over. His skin was flushed, and his blush went all the way down his chest—Bruce knew, now, because Steve reached down and tugged his shirt over his head. He dropped his hands to his belt and shucked off his pants with that same efficiency, each movement like a well-oiled machine. He wasn’t exactly putting on a show, but then he didn’t need to. Bruce’s breath quickened and his heart rate skyrocketed all the same.

“Nice ass,” Tony said the second it was exposed. He reached out one hand and _pinched_ him. Bruce almost buried his head in his hands in defeat.

Steve just reached back and slapped Tony’s hand away, looking annoyed but also resigned. And maybe Bruce was kidding himself, but he thought Steve looked fond as well.

Either way, Bruce enjoyed the show as Steve climbed back onto the bed. He was all straight limbs and tanned skin as he moved and, really, the super soldier serum done right was a sight to behold. Bruce had a fleeting moment of second-hand embarrassment, and he was almost glad he was across the room curled up in a chair fully dressed. How could he compete with that?

Steve began to run his hand along the hem of Tony’s shirts (Bruce couldn’t see how many he was wearing, but it was at least three). He started to pull up his shirt, and for a moment Tony seemed like he was going to go for it, but then he shoved his arms down and pushed Steve’s hands away.

Bruce saw the motion for what it was, and spoke before Tony could come up with some mask to hide behind. “That’s okay. The shirt can stay on.”

Tony cast him a relieved smile. Bruce wondered, for just a moment, if Tony was hiding his chest because Steve was there or if he would do the same thing to Bruce. He decided it didn’t matter.

He watched as Steve sat back on his haunches to undo the buttons on Tony’s pants. It was really just a fantastic way to sit, with his leg muscles pressed together and his dick resting pleasant and erect on his thigh. Bruce thought maybe he should look away, but no. They were all in this together, wherever it may lead.

He still had to shift down in his chair and remind himself to breathe as Steve shucked of Tony’s pants and folded them neatly before laying them on the ground. Tony rolled his eyes despite his current positon—legs spread, completely bare from the waist down, sticky-soft penis lying filthy from where he’d come on himself.

“Okay,” Bruce said when Steve had settled and Tony had begun writhing in boredom. “How is…everyone?” He mostly wanted to give himself a moment to concentrate on breathing in and out, because if he felt like this when they weren’t even doing anything then this could be a huge, hulking problem.

“Everything is fine. Hunky dory, in Steve speak,” Tony said, only sounding a bit sarcastic. Bruce could actually picture Steve saying ‘hunky dory,’ but it would probably be as a joke. “It can’t be that exciting for you to just stare at us staring at each other, so maybe we could you know…” He made a gesture with one hand that was frankly obscene, even for their current position.

Bruce glanced to Steve, who was definitely looking a little fond now as he gazed at Tony’s face. Bruce had that weird moment of not-jealousy again, where he wanted to stroll over and slide under that gaze, feel it burning at his skin.

Then Steve looked over at him and Bruce _was_ under that gaze—fond and adoring and really it just shouldn’t be like that, but what had Bruce expected when he’d agreed to this insane plan?

“I’m good,” Steve said quietly.

It was enough that Bruce snapped out of his haze and nodded. “There’s lube in the drawer. Get it.”

Tony made an abortive attempt at the drawer, but Steve was always faster. He shoved Tony aside and wrenched open the door, pulling out lubricant (special fancy Tony Stark lubricant that probably cost more than most people made in a week) and a condom (a normal one).

“Don’t complain Tony,” Bruce said. He tried to go for ‘warning’ but hit more on ‘exasperation.’ “You couldn’t get it up again, anyway.”

Tony looked scandalized. “What the hell are you talking about? ‘Playboy’ is one-quarter of who I am! I went through an entire _calendar_ of women. That’s twelve, Bruce. I know Steve can’t count that high, but you’re supposed to be a genius.”

Steve grumbled, looking a little ridiculous with his Captain America stern glare on his face and lube in his hands. “Tony, you shouldn’t bring things like that up to your boyfriend,” he admonished.

It was kind of funny that Bruce was Tony’s boyfriend, but Steve still wasn’t sure what Tony was to Bruce. Wait, maybe that was sad.

“I’ll say whatever I want; he knows who I am.”

It was true. “Yeah, a superhero who still needs to be reminded to eat and not to fly into the sun. Clearly you’re a paragon of adult decision making.”

Tony smirked at him. “You say it out of love.”

Bruce had to smile back because, yeah, he did. But he couldn’t exactly say that, and so instead he looked back to Steve, who had closed his eyes again like he was embarrassed at being caught in their moment. Bruce shifted his hands together to pluck at his fingers.

“Right,” he said, and immediately the mood shifted to something a little headier, just from how calm he sounded. Steve tilted his head to one side, eyes still shut, to listen. Tony began to writhe around again like he suddenly remembered where he was. “Steve, prepare him very gently.”

Tony scoffed, but Bruce could see the way his eyes followed Steve’s motions as he dumped a good portion of lube onto his hands and began to rub it into warmth. “ _Gently_ , whatever. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Steve slipped down between his legs, brows knitting together in confusion. “Rodeo?” he asked as he brought his hands between Tony’s helpfully-parted legs. “You mean this isn’t your first time with a man?”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” Tony bit his lip and craned his head to see what Steve was doing. Bruce didn’t blame him—watching Steve swirl the pad of his index finger over Tony’s entrance was enough to get him breathing heavy again.

Steve looked a bit less confused. “Well, it isn’t mine either.” He shoved one finger inside.

Tony’s mouth fell open to quip about that, but Bruce could see confusion mixed with desire on his face. Bruce wanted to get up and walk over and _shake_ Tony. Grab him by the scruff of his shirt and shout _he lived in the gayest part of Brooklyn and you_ know _that!_ But he knew if he went and touched that he wouldn’t be able to let go, and this whole thing would go up in smoke—or down in smash, as it were.

So instead he contented himself with watching Steve shove his finger into Tony, the small bumps of his knuckles disappearing one by one. Tony was open, receptive to his advances even as he worked his jaw, staring at Steve like he’d never seen him before.

“You know what to do, Steve?” Bruce asked. He pitched his voice low and quiet, hoping to hide his rumble.

“Yeah.” Steve ducked his head even though his eyes were still closed. The blush was back, adorable as ever. “I mean, I’ve done—”

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Steve shivered. “I’m just exploring now.” He drew his finger nearly out, and then slipped it back in. “I want him to adjust so it doesn’t hurt. Just feels good. But, he’s right, he has done this before. He knows just how to relax.”

“Fuck,” Tony said eloquently, and Bruce had to agree.

Steve huffed out a laugh, warm breath misting over Tony’s stomach. “I’m slicking him up real good, real nice,” he said, and suddenly his accent was thicker than Bruce had ever heard it. “Not really doing much but getting him wet so he’s ready for more. I want to touch his, y’know, but it’s hard at this angle.”

Tony blinked and shifted down, spreading his legs more widely and hooking one over Steve’s shoulder. His other knee bent up, exposing him wantonly to the world and drastically improving Bruce’s view. Steve sighed in appreciation and quirked his wrist, drawing a full body shiver out of Tony.

“Thanks,” Steve said pleasantly. “’S easier now. Can touch him there. Feel him shiver and shake and clench up around me. He’s almost ready for the next finger, but I want him real loose so it slides in easy.”

Bruce stifled a whine at the words. He had to look up, at Tony’s face. Tony was back to slack-jaw staring, for once struck dumb. He seemed just as enamored with Steve’s talking as Bruce was.

“He’s warm and wet,” Steve mumbled into Tony’s abs. Bruce could see his finger bending and quirking inside Tony, drawing out muffled sounds from the man as he twisted his hips around. “I’m thinking I could probably get away with two fingers and fuck him just fine, but I want to be gentle so I’ll go to three.”

“Ah, shit,” Tony said. He tangled his hands in the sheets and began to move his hips more earnestly, grinding down on Steve’s hand.

“T-that’s good, Steve,” Bruce managed.

Steve quirked a little smile in his general direction, eyes still closed like he was trying to feel out the situation. “I’m slipping in another finger,” he said, and did so without really giving Tony enough time to adjust to the idea.

Tony shivered and keened, hands fisted in the covers as Steve took him apart with two fingers. Bruce’s mouth felt dry as he watched, seeing the way Tony stretched around Steve, pink and pleasant and tight. Perfectly open and loose, just like Steve had said.

“Gonna scissor them,” Steve said, and then he fucking _did_. Slipped his hand out just enough that Bruce could see him spread his fingers wide into Tony, stretching him out like he was a work of art—spun sugar, delicate and sweet, not like how he usually handled Tony at all. Usually Tony was metal to Steve—rusty and rough, unbreakable.

“He’s opening easy for me, now,” Steve said softly. “Got one finger on each side of him and when I shove like this—” He must have demonstrated, because Tony suddenly arched his back and let out a broken moan, fists grasping frantically at the blankets. “He likes that, so I’m gonna do it again.” He did. Again and again, with Tony writhing under him and bearing down on his hand as Steve smiled.

Bruce suddenly, desperately wanted to go help. He could that, right? Just walk over and slip his finger inside Tony alongside Steve’s. Help him stretch Tony out, get him ready for Steve’s cock inside him. It would just be _one_ little touch but, no, no he couldn’t do that because his heart was about to beat out of his chest and he’d gone completely still.

He watched Steve pull Tony apart piece-by-piece, narrating the whole way as he slipped in a third finger. He could see glistening lube around Tony’s hole, the clench and unclench as Tony tried to accommodate three fingers inside him. Tony’s legs were shaking, each muscle tense with arousal, and Bruce realized that Tony actually _could_ get it up. His prick was thick and hard, resting against his belly. Bruce really wanted to tell Steve to lick it. Ask him what it tasted like. If Tony was bitter or sweet, how hard he felt in Steve’s mouth. But he couldn’t say that.

Instead, he said, “Steve, he’s ready.” He was astonished by how neutral his voice sounded. He felt like he was going to die from how turned on he was, and by how impotent he was to do anything about it.

Steve just nodded and slowly withdrew his hand. Tony let out a great sigh and relaxed minutely, fists still tangled in the sheets as he shifted around the sudden emptiness. Bruce watched as Steve groped blindly for the condom and ripped it open, rolling it onto his cock without even looking. He couldn’t tear his gaze away as Steve spread more lube on himself until he was completely slick.

Tony hoisted his other leg over Steve’s shoulder and glanced askance, towards Bruce. Bruce could only stare back into Tony’s burning eyes as Steve lined up and began to slowly, painfully slowly, push his way in.

“God,” Tony breathed. His face was screwed up in what could have been pain, but the way he followed up with a moan betrayed his true feelings. His hands were still tangled in the bedclothes in a desperate attempt not to touch Steve even as the man slid home above him, burying himself to the hilt.

Bruce’s watch beeped.

It startled all of them, and then let out another beep as Bruce realized how close he was to too-far. He slammed his hand over his monitor and growled, “Stop.”

Tony was panting, eyes locked onto Bruce like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen as Steve quivered above him, arms tense with the strain of holding himself over Tony and not moving. “Bruce,” Tony said, and although his voice quavered it wasn’t in fear. It was that strange respect Tony got sometimes when he talked to Bruce. Like he was thinking _hot damn, this does affect you!_

Bruce had the fleeting thought that if Tony’s hands weren’t tangled in the sheets, he would have asked Steve to go for a high-five.

Bruce buried his face in his hands and breathed deeply, trying to block out the images threatening his heart rate. But he could still smell and hear—smell hot sweat and Tony’s previous orgasm, hear Tony’s frantic breathing and Steve’s slow steady gulps for air. He could almost taste the two of them on his tongue, knew exactly what it would feel like to slip in behind Steve and lick a path up his spine, catching sweat and exertion.

He took a deep breath. And another. “I just have to…” he started, and then stopped himself because talking made it worse. He breathed deeply for a moment, counting heart beats until he was almost able to handle it again.

“Bruce,” Steve choked, gulping in another breath. “I—”

Bruce snapped his attention up, catching the line of hair plastered to Steve’s forehead, the way his head was tipped back with closed eyes up at the ceiling, how his hands were the only thing moving, clenching and unclenching just above Tony’s fists as he tried to hold himself back. He dropped his gaze to Tony, who was just _looking_ at him with that quiet intensity, working his jaw like Bruce was a puzzle he’d finally solved and he was god damned proud to have an answer.

“Fuck him.”

Steve obeyed immediately, sliding out of Tony and snapping his hips forward with frantic haste. Tony startled and jumped, hips lifting higher to accommodate Steve’s desperation.

Bruce could see how Steve disappeared into Tony’s open body, sliding inside him with wet-slick noises that were so bizarrely obscene. Tony threw his head back and his hips into the motion, parting his mouth so beautifully. Bruce wanted to kiss him. Wanted to hold his head down and kiss him gently, softly as Steve fucked him so hard the bed creaked.

And Tony was still _looking_ at him.

He had to distract himself. He reminded himself blearily that he couldn’t handle this much excitement, but it was already way too late for that. He could maybe get up and walk out, but there was no way he was missing this.

“Steve,” he croaked. He struggled for something to say, something to take his mind off of it. “Open your eyes.”

Steve stuttered for a moment and for once, he didn’t obey. His eyes stayed determinedly shut.

“Steve,” Bruce said, more harshly now. “Open them.”

He folded himself over Tony’s body and gave a jerky nod before finally, blessedly, opening his eyes. Bruce wasn’t sure where he’d expected Steve to look—at Tony, maybe, bent in half under him with his cock rubbing against Steve’s stomach, ass clenching around Steve desperately, burning eyes fixed on Bruce.

But instead Steve turned his head and his gaze practically bored into Bruce, who suddenly felt very exposed in his little chair across the room. Both men were watching him now as they fucked, and that was a million times more distracting than he’d thought it would be. He had to force himself to breathe—in, and out—as he twisted in his chair and tried to decide who to look at first. 

Both. He looked at both. Couldn’t stop looking at both as Tony shivered with each upward thrust, as Steve grunted and clenched his teeth. Both had hazy eyes, intent on Bruce.

“Okay.” Bruce realized he had his head cradled in his hand again, and he dropped his arm. His hand fell perilously close to the erection he’d been trying to ignore, but he didn’t touch himself. “That’s, how is…?” He tried to find words but it was difficult.

Steve seemed incapable of speaking, but Tony picked up the slack. “He’s fucking huge, if you hadn’t noticed,” he said. His voice was a mix of humor and desire with a hint of sarcasm. “Like, is this a serum thing or was he a walking tripod?”

Steve growled and slammed his hips down against Tony, eliciting another shocked jump from the man beneath him. Tony began to shake with renewed vigor as Steve twisted his hips around inside him, grinding against him with a strangely gentle roughness.

“And he’s quite good at that.” Tony squirmed under him, toes curling. “Wish someone would _touch_ me though. Bruce, can you…?”

“I can’t.” Bruce felt like his voice was breaking apart, shattering into little pieces as he flicked his gaze between blue eyes and brown. “Tony, I can’t.”

Steve did it for him, wrapping his broad hand around Tony’s cock and stroking him steadily. It was enough to draw another keening whine from Tony’s lips, although he had the graces to look embarrassed at the end of it.

“That’s my hand on you, Tony,” Bruce said before he could stop himself. “You know it’s me because I always do that little twist on the upstroke—yeah, Steve. Just like that.”

He had to bite his lip and slip lower in the chair. His heart rate was climbing again. He ignored it.

“I wanted to kiss your neck, Steve,” he heard himself say. “Crawl behind you and plaster myself on your back. Reach around and stroke Tony while I kissed you. You’d let me do it, wouldn’t you.”

It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement of fact, but it still had Steve nodding as he rubbed himself off inside Tony, mashing their hips together as he choked back groans.

“I, I want to mark you up,” Bruce admitted. He realized he sounded almost sad, quiet voice honest and steady. “Bite you just above where Tony did. His marks are healing. Do they hurt?”

Steve shook his head. “No, no they felt—no.” He started to rock his hips backwards again, sliding out of Tony inch by inch before slipping back into him, his hand going steady with Tony’s cock.

Tony writhed as Steve brushed a thumb over his head. Bruce filed that knowledge away for later. “God dammit, fuck.” Tony had completely lost it now and Bruce could see him struggling not to close his eyes; struggling to keep his gaze fixed on Bruce. “Do it, Bruce. Just do it. I can, we can, I can handle it. He wants you to. Can feel him inside me. Gets bigger when you talk about biting him.”

Bruce folded his hands over his waist to distract himself from Steve’s resulting moan. Bruce felt frantic, now, staring and being stared at as he watched them fly apart at the seams.

Bruce sort of knew what to say, but he was still terrified as he said it. “I want to come over there and get big enough to hold you both down.”

Tony cried out and shoved his hips down, milking himself on Steve’s dick as his hands spasmed and his cock twitched. He came with a shout, milky come leaking over Steve’s fingers as Steve kept pounding into him, holding him down and folding him in half.

“Bruce, Bruce,” Steve was talking, Bruce realized, but it was garbled and confused. “Tell me, let me—”

“You can come, Steve, please.” The words were hot and thick, and he was glad he said them when he could still speak because Tony chose that moment to start letting out short little gasps as Steve fucked into him vigorously, taking his spent body for his own pleasure.

Steve’s eyes nearly fluttered shut, but he kept them open, fixed on Bruce as he went slack-jawed with ecstasy, movements faltering and unrefined as he came quivering into Tony.

Bruce realized, as Steve collapsed on top of Tony and Tony struggled to breathe, that he had slipped his finger under his watch band. It was no longer connecting with his pulse point. It couldn’t warn them of any coming catastrophe.

It was okay, though, because although his heart was a wild hammer in his neck, he didn’t feel like he was going to spill over into green abyss.

He watched them slowly disentangle themselves. Tony twitched and made a face as Steve pulled out, although it was probably because of the cramp clearly visible in his leg. Steve slipped off the condom and tied it off before throwing it half-heartedly towards the garbage can.

Bruce realized as he watched that he was still unbelievably aroused, his erection tenting the front of his pants even as his heart rate approached what was almost normal for him. He ignored it and focused on breathing 1-2-3 in and 1-2-3 out.

“Bruce,” Tony whined, shimmying his hips a bit and picking at the front of his shirt in what could have passed for embarrassment, if he wasn’t Tony Stark. “I demand post-coital cuddles.”

He smiled a little, but it blanched as he saw the look on Steve’s face.

“I should go,” Steve said matter-of-factly. He started to slide off the bed.

Before Bruce quite knew what he was doing he was standing and strolling across the room. His legs complained and sent pins and needles up under his skin from sitting so long, but he ignored that, too. “No, stay,” he said, and it wasn’t exactly a command but he would let Steve take it as such if he needed to.

It seemed Steve did, indeed, need to take it that way, for he settled back on the bed with a crooked little half-smile and nodded.

“You’re going to cuddle by-proxy?” Tony asked when Bruce came to a stop at the foot of the bed. He sounded frustrated, and so Bruce smiled down at him.

“No.” He climbed in to the bed and over Tony, making sure to give him a good knee in the stomach for his troubles. He settled in between them and marveled at Tony’s smug smile and Steve’s gentle, insistently questioning eyes.

He answered those eyes by slipping one arm under Tony’s shoulders and the other under Steve’s neck. He curled them both in a half hug over his chest, and they went easily enough, but stopped short of touching each other back.

“This is nice,” Bruce commented to the ceiling. And it was. Tony was a live-wire on his right side, and Steve was a warming balm on his left. Both molded against him and he felt Steve let out a short, contented sigh.

Tony squirmed a little, never content with contentedness. “Would be better, though, if you’d let me try the stage one fix up. Pretty sure it’ll work at, you know, keeping you nice and pink for sexy times.”

“Tony,” Steve said firmly. Bruce glanced down in time to see Steve giving Tony a solid glare. “This is nice.”

Tony deflated a little and Bruce had to smile. “Yeah, okay, this is nice.” He buried his face in Bruce’s neck, and Bruce let him do it.

He held them both close as he contemplated the ceiling. He could feel Steve relax incrementally against his arm even as Tony picked at a button on his shirt, incapable of holding still. It was nice, very nice, and Bruce had never expected it to work out this well, but there you go.

Sometimes, Steve had truly brilliant ideas.


End file.
